


A Myriad of Stars

by PrincessMarco



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Military, Anxiety Attacks, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Possible smut in later chapters (maybe), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Soldier!Jean, Writer!Marco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 11:34:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3935299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessMarco/pseuds/PrincessMarco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He told me to write about us, I figure this is the least I could do.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Marco Bodt recounts the time he spent falling in love with his PTSD and anxiety filled neighbor, Jean Kirsten; a boy who had seen and gone through far too much for someone so young.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Myriad of Stars

**Author's Note:**

> When there is nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

…

I’m sorry, I’m not very good at introduction sentences. 

But I do feel that Charles Dickens was on point in terms of describing my life up to this point. It really was one of the best times of my life, but now we are here. The bottom half of the proverbial hour glass now full. I’m not sure what else that could mean other than the obvious, but there’s no changing it now. Believe me, if I could I would.

There is no good way to start this story. There never is when it comes to tales like mine, and I don’t think I would do this story any justice by not starting at the very beginning. But I haven’t written in a long time, I haven’t felt the way my finger tips go numb from persistent typing, or the soreness in my pinky from constantly jabbing at the delete key.

He always told me I was a fickle writer.

Often times he would say it would be better if I used a type writer instead so I couldn't delete what I’ve done. Maybe that was a metaphor for my life, maybe it was just him getting tired of having to fix the delete key on my laptop.

I guess that will come later, I’ve always have had a habit of getting ahead of myself. But anyway, the beginning, yes.

I had just gotten out of grad school with a masters in english literature and creative writing; I changed my major mid way through my undergrad years from journalism to my current degree, so I had to take on a couple more years. I had a sudden realization during my second semester finals of my sophomore year that that wasn't what I wanted to write about. The deeper my classes got, the more I realized that journalism didn't give me what I needed to write for myself, just how to write for others.

It was a very weird final. The experience I mean, not my final. No, my weirdest final was psychology, all we got was a thirty-page thick packet of blank sheets with the question ‘Why?’ on the front. I wrote ‘because’ and doodled on the rest of the pages, figuring that my grade was high enough that failing this final wasn't going to hurt me; I actually got an A. But that’s beside the point. In my Advanced Reporting final, I stared down at the scantron, realizing that I never wanted to write like this, so at the end of my finals I headed down to the counseling office to declare a different major.

I stayed in Jinae for grad school, figuring that moving to a new college when there’s a perfectly good program there was just dumb. I did want to get out of there though, as much as I love my home town, there’s something freeing about being in a new place. There’s new opportunities, people, and things to do, all of that cliché stuff. I knew I could wait it out for a little longer if I meant I got to go somewhere else. I finally finished college right before my twenty fifth birthday, and too celebrate, I let myself apartment hunt with an entire German Chocolate cake to myself.

I knew I wanted to move to a larger city, and figured Trost would be my best option. The city was booming with the completion of a new military base, and there’s a publishing company there that I heard would be hiring over the summer, which would be great for me since I’ve heard the horror stories of college graduates not getting jobs right out of school. I sat up in that hot apartment, sprawled across my couch with the windows open, praying for even the slightest waft of cool air to bless my rosy, freckled cheeks. 

By the end of June, I had found the perfect place.

It was was a tall, white limestone apartment building. A flat had just vacated and I knew I had to live there. The publishing company (which had indeed posted openings for positions, and accepted my application) was just a small drive away; this had to mean something. Things were going to turn out good for me, and when I received a call for an interview with Sina Publishing, I jumped at the opportunity. I figured while I was down for the interview, I could take a look at the apartment as well.

July fifth was the day I would melt into a pile of freckles. As I stepped out of the cool of my cobalt into the sweltering heat, I wished I had applied more deodorant. Despite the temperature, I still dressed in my suit, the black coat only adding to my struggle. I felt like I was going to suffocate under the grip of my tie, and the nervousness of my interview eating away at me. I was probably a little too early, but first impressions matter. The building had the AC all the way up, thank whoever made that decision. I sat in front of the secretary desk until my name was called and I disappeared behind impressive frosted glass doors.

My knees shook the entire time, but I kept my voice even to the best of my abilities. The greying man seemed please with me, and I left in high spirits. They told me that I should be receiving a call sometime in the next few days, and I left feeling more hopeful that I had in a while.

It wasn’t that my life in Jinae was bad, but that the more I sat there, the more I felt like I was losing oxygen. I was running out of time, and had more dead ends than open roads there. A majority of my friends all went their own ways after graduation, and sitting alone in a living room with no probability of company gets a little depressing after a while. It had even gone so far to the point where I was considering getting a cat.

I checked the time on my phone, figuring I had time to get lunch before I met with the landlord of the apartment for a tour. I drove through down city Trost, searching for something that looked mildly appetizing. My lack of knowledge of the local restaurants however sent me to Panda Express, as I am always one for Chinese take out.

When I pulled up to the apartment building thirty minutes later, suit jacket and tie discarded to the back seat and sleeves rolled up to my elbows, all I could do was smile, the kind that hurts your cheeks if you keep it up for too long. But god, I was already in love. The neighboring houses and brownstones were quaint, friendly in nature. The street wasn’t too busy nor too loud, and when the light-ginger haired woman stepped out the front door and offered me a kind smile, I knew that could be home.

“Uh, Ms. Ral?” I asked hesitantly, making my way up the stoop to where the door was held ajar.

“Petra will do just fine, so you must be Marco Bodt then?” She was gentle in nature, Petra only came up to my shoulder; she had amber colored eyes to match the hair that fell on her shoulders. I wondered if she mothered her residents, she seemed like she would be the type to do so. 

“Ah, yeah. This building you have here is beautiful by the way, I love the stone, makes it look like its a castle” I said sincerely, my nerves ebbing away. I shoved my hands in my back pockets, not knowing exactly what to do with them.

“Thank you, now the vacant flat is on the second floor, I hope that isn’t an issue for you since we don’t have an elevator” she said, motioning for me to follow her towards the stairs at the end of the hallway.

I stared down at the dark hard wood floors and glanced around the warm, beige colored walls. “No, not at all. I’m okay with stairs” I reassure her as we climbed the twisting stair case to the second floor. 

There were the same dark floors and cozy walls, and I noticed there were only two doors on this level. I didn’t have time to catch the name from the tag on the door across from the one Petra was unlocking before I was herded in. I stepped inside eagerly and was not disappointed.

My apartment back in Jinae wasn’t bad in the slightest, it was small and parking was a nightmare but it did what it needed to do. This, this had more. The kitchen cabinets looked brand new, the walls were lit by the sun that filtered through the large, paned windows in the living room. The floor plan was fairly open, so my inner interior designer would have a lot of fun with this.

There was only one bedroom and one bathroom but that was all I needed. The bedroom was spacious and the bathroom was right outside it’s door. I even had enough room to put in a small dining table, something I hadn’t had in a long time.

“I’ll take it” I said breathlessly, poking my head out from the pantry. I would have so much fun in that kitchen, I could bake to my hearts desire.

Petra gave me a pleased chuckle before pulling the paper work out of the messenger bag she had slung over her shoulder, “Welcome home.”

We sat in the kitchen, going over the contract and lease agreements before I finally got the key at a quarter to eight. Petra bid me a goodnight before leaving for her own home, and when the door clicked behind her, I giddily hopped off the counter that I had been sitting on and lied in the middle of the living room, staring up at the ceiling.

Thing were gonna go great for me. 

Jinae was only an hour and half drive away, and when I returned to my apartment at around midnight, I wasn't the slightest bit of tired. I knew I would have to wait until morning to set my affairs in order, but for that night I lied in bed, wondering if all of it had been real.

By mid July I was fully packed and ready to move. The day after I had returned from Trost, Sina Publishing called and offered me a job as an editor. I nearly cried after I hung up; I would get to read works before anyone else did. Of course I had to do my job and all, but this was exciting!

I opted to drive the moving van on the coolest day of the week, Saturday, and by cool I mean ninety one degrees. I set out at the crack of dawn, determined to sleep in my room by the end of the night. Petra had offered to help, and I let her take a couple boxes of clothes and books up, but other than that, the two moving guys and I did most of the work. After many falls and a couple bruises, I had everything up in my new home, after that I took it from there.

I spent the afternoon putting my bed together, arranging my living room, sitting in front of the AC with a box of pizza, and putting away my hoard of books. At the end of the night, there were still some boxes to be unloaded, but my bedroom was finished, and it felt good to take up every inch on those cool sheets and fall asleep knowing the opportunities that lied ahead.

July twentieth, the morning after I moved in, I woke up to the sharp rapping of knuckles on my door. I groaned at the sound, turning over in my sheets, grasping at my fleeting unconsciousness. The knocking broke the silence once more and I rolled groggily out of my bed, picking up a pair of loose sweat pants that sat at the top of my stack of clothes that I needed to put away.

They hung from my hips and I instantly regretted not putting a shirt on when I felt the chilled air of my living room, a stark contrast to the cozy warmth I had been enveloped in. I rubbed at the goosebumps on my arms and kicked aside an empty box before pulling open the front door.

I regretted not getting dressed even more. My sleep-dusted eyes blink owlishly at the man standing in front of me. He looks exhausted, the faintest purple had risen in the skin under his copper colored eyes, his mop of ash-brown hair a mess. What I find most surprising of all is the sandy desert-patterned military uniform, his jacket slung over his shoulder and the white undershirt clinging to his skin. I swallow thickly, praying I’m not about to be detained. Or given a lap dance, I’m still too sleepy for that. 

He coughed awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot. “Uh, hi. I’m Jean Kirstein, your neighbor” he said slowly, motioning to the door across from mine, his eyes avoiding mine.

Wow that is neat as hell, I thought in my drowsy stupor. “My neighbor is in the military? That’s cool and terrifying” I told myself, except as the words passed through my conscience they also fell from my mouth. I told you I wasn’t very good at introduction sentences. I froze as I realized what I’d said aloud and caught Jean’s eyes as they darted up to meet mine.

“Terrifying? That’s a new one” he said, the faintest hint of a grin grew on his lips. “Um, anyway, I don’t think Petra’s put your name on your mailbox yet, so I got your morning paper” he said, holding out a rolled up copy of the Trost Tribune.

I took it from him listlessly, leaned against the door frame. “Sorry, it was a long night. Marco Bodt” I offer, running a hand through my hair, mine couldn't have been any better than his.

He gave me a small smile, a hand coming up to grip his elbow. “Welcome to the building then, Marco. If you need anything, I’m right across from you” he said before turning with a parting wave and disappearing behind his door with a click.

Jean Kirstein. He couldn't have been much older than I was; he was lean and stood maybe an inch shorter than me and his resting face seemed to fall into a frown. He had an undercut similar to mine and his smile was lazy, but I could sense it was genuine.

July twentieth was the day the hour glass was turned and sand began to trickle. July twentieth is when our story starts.

 

— — —

 

I eat cold pizza for breakfast and walk around my apartment aimlessly. I dig out my speaker, opting for the company of Iron & Wine and sing to myself as I unpack the rest of my things. The sun filtering in through the white curtains, lighting everything with a pale glow. After I put away everything in the kitchen I realize I may actually need to go grocery shopping and purchase some real food.

The week leading up to the move, I hadn't bothered with grocery shopping since I didn't want to have to deal with transporting food and risk it spoiling or spilling. As I lay on my couch, staring at my blank television (I still haven’t managed to hook up the cable yet or find my dvd player amongst the boxes) I crave company more than I do lunch. That isn't to say I don’t want food, I’m absolutely starving, but I’m lonely above other things.

I can’t remember the last time I sat down and talked to someone face to face for more than an hour. I knew I would get the opportunity to make friends, but I want friends here and now. I remember what Jean had said, but I’m not sure needing someone to cure your loneliness counts. I ignore the growing emptiness I feel in my chest and roll over onto my stomach, burying my face in the crook of my arm. Maybe I can make him food, that’s always a good way to win people over. I would be friends with someone who made me food.

At some point in time I drift off into unconsciousness, Samuel Beam lulling me to sleep. The warmth of the sun on my back slowly fading as it dips below the horizon of the buildings. A little past five, I crack a tired eye open before sitting up to pop my back. I sigh heavily, looking around to find how little I had left to do. Figuring I might as well start making this place a little more homie, I start off towards my bedroom to get dressed so I can go down to the super market. I hum along to Flightless Bird, American Mouth as I pull on an old navy blue JU shirt over my head. When I’m swapping out my sweats for khaki shorts (thats what you’re supposed to wear with navy blue right? Khaki?) there’s a familiar rap against my door.

I gracefully stumble into my shorts before padding back out of my bedroom, absently plucking my phone from the dock to cease the music before returning to the front door, pulling it open once more. 

“Hi, again” Jean says, his voice less taught than it was this morning, though I’m certain he still sounds a little nervous, “I uh, just wanted to see how you’re doing. The floor’s been strangely quiet today, compared to yesterday at least” he says sheepishly, fingers fiddling at the leather strap of his watch.

He’s changed out of his uniform into a simple red v-neck and jean shorts. And done something with his hair, which reminds me that mine is still a mess.

“I- yeah, I got a lot done this morning and gave myself some time to relax. I was just about to head out to go grocery shopping-“

He shifts anxiously again, shoulders tensing, and I wonder if this is weird for him, or even awkward. “Oh, okay. Thats great that your settling in, I uh- I don’t wanna keep you so…” he says, taking a step back towards his door.

Please don’t leave, I really don’t need the familiar feeling of isolation. “D’you wanna come with me? I have no idea where a supermarket is and could use some help navigating the city” I blurt out.

He raises his eye brows, hands falling to tuck into his back pocket. Theres a pause as he chews at his lip before speaking slowly, “Yeah, sure. There’s one up the road that’s open late I think.”

I breath a sigh of relief as I let my hand fall from my door. “Okay, lemme get my shoes on and we can go, alright?” I hold the door open for him, offering him inside.

He moves across the threshold, peering around my living room. His steps are measured, quiet. I wouldn't have known he was in here had I not watched him walk in. “It’s the exact same set up, you’re bedroom is between the kitchen and the bathroom isn't it?” He asks, following me before stopping at the kitchen to lean against the counter.

“Yeah, so yours is just a mirrored version?” I dart behind my bedroom door to pull my shoes from my closet, shoving my feet into them before walking back out into the kitchen to grab my wallet and keys off the counter.

Jean hums a tone of affirmation, eyes wandering around my apartment. “You ready to go?” Jean asks, turning his face to meet mine.

“Yeah, I’m parked just out front” I say, nodding towards the door.

— — —

I quickly realize that navigating the busier streets were going to be a challenge for me, at least for a while. Jean guides me the best he can without causing me a panic attack. When I pull into the parking lot, I feel my shoulders fall. I didn't know I was that tense.

Jean grabs me a shopping cart, leaning over it as he pushes it down the front of the store. “What all do you need? The basics, anything special?” he asks, watching me.

“Yeah. Bread, eggs, milk, wine, the usual” I say nonchalantly, tucking my keys in my pocket. I instinctively reaching out a hand to hold onto the cart, knowing that if Jean and I got separated, I would be screwed.

He snickers at that, pushing the cart and I along the isles. “You’re a wine guy? I wouldn't have guessed it.”

I shrug, pausing to throw in a jar of crunchy peanut butter into the cart. “It helps when I write, and it goes well with baths.”

“Wait, you’re also a bubble bath kinda guy?” Jean laughs, propping his chin up on his palm.

My cheeks go pink and I can feel myself getting flustered, “Yeah, and I never said anything about bubbles! They’re just relaxing” I say defensively.

He nudges my arm with his shoulder and I look down at him, my scowl fading. “I also never said anything about baths being bad, I still take cold ones on rough days after work.”

This was mildly comforting, though I’m pretty sure hot baths are a lot better. “What do you do? If you don't mind me asking. I know the whole military thing, but is there anything specific?” We roll up to the produce section and I deposit a carton of eggs and a gallon of milk and some cheese in the cart, considering the current situation I’m in.

I’m grocery shopping my army dude neighbor that I just met this morning, I know nothing about him, and so far he seem’s like my only option for a friend. I grit my teeth as the question leaves me, knowing these things are always awkward. It’s strange for me, going through the motions of getting to know someone. But I figure if I want to stop moping about by myself, I gotta start here.

“I’m a sergeant, well, hopefully not for long. I’m working on moving up to staff sergeant but I just got off my month’s vacation last week, so in the next couple months of training I hope to move up in ranks” he says casually, drumming his fingers against the metal bars of the cart. His nose wrinkles at the milk before looking up at me with a glare, “Skim? Seriously? Everyone knows D is where it’s at.”

“As much as I love D, I’m going to have to say that skim is more superior” I say, rolling my eyes as I tug the cart along. 

Wait, did I just come out to my neighbor?

Theres a beat of silence before Jean shrugs and rolls us forward, “At least it’s some kind of D, I guess.” I’m not sure what that means, but I’m thankful for the reaction he gives me, it’s a lot better than it could have been.

After I pick up things to make pasta and a tacos and all those dumb adult things I know I will have to use eventually, I eagerly head to the frozen’s section. “One month of vacation? Did you strategically plan that, or is that a military thing?” I ask, adding a bag of cheese pizza rolls to my hoard.

“Well, we’re required to take one month off after every deployment, to readjust and all that stuff; but even if you aren’t deployed the army requires you take one month off every year” he tells me as we walk down a row of cereal. 

I toss in a box of Life, turning my nose at the obnoxious, overly-sweet options, and continue on thinking of what else I would need. When the word deployment hits me, my feet stutter and I nearly trip over myself. “Deployment? You mean you were over seas just over a month ago?”

Jean unfortunately notices my near-trip up and chuckles to himself before breathing out a heavy sigh. “Yeah, a year in Afghanistan; it was my first tour actually” he says, glancing down at his knuckles as he cracks them absently. 

“Oh, wow, thank you for your service. Really, I couldn’t imagine being out there.” I put myself in his place and quickly decide I would not be able to handle it. I have a feeling I wouldn't be able to even bring myself to hold a gun, knowing I would eventually have to kill someone.

“Yeah, it can get pretty heavy at times, but god there is no greater feeling than knowing you’ve done your part. What goes on over there is more than just gun fire and explosions. My platoon helped so many people over there; once a month my mom would send me boxes upon boxes of shoes, water bottles, and meal bars and I would spend my evenings passing them out to the kids that would flock around the camps. It’s not much to us, but just a new pair of flip flops mean the world to them” I could tell he was holding back the broad grin that threatened to spill on his lips. 

I wonder what Jean has seen during his time, how he copes with that. Constantly being shot at and knowing you or anyone else could die at any moment can’t be easy, probably even nightmare-ish. Anyone who sees the dirtier parts of war have to face some kind of stress. Moreover, I wonder why he chose to join the army; whatever the reason, I push the question from my mind, knowing that now it not the time to go poking. We wander through the store aimlessly with me tossing in things I think I might need, until I reach heaven.

“Moscato, Moscato, Moscato” I chant under my breath, scanning the shelves. I dance from foot to foot, reading off the labels of the bottles.

“I think you’re a little too excited there, buddy” Jean chuckles at the noise of excitement that escapes my throat.

I gently placed two bottles down (just in case, who knows when I’m gonna run out next?) in the cart, and nod towards the check out lanes.

Jean helps the guy at the end of the belt bag all my stuff as I show the cashier my drivers license. He loads up the back of my car with all the paper bags, grumbling out some excuse. “You’ve been lifting all weekend, give your back a break” he huffs, avoiding my eyes as he slaps away my hand.

He lets me help bring groceries up though, claiming that making more than one trip is hell when you live in an apartment. I agree with him, and we put away everything, Jean approving or disproving various items. “Your taste in coffee is disgusting, who the hell drinks it black?” he jousts, handing me the can before abandoning the kitchen, distracted by something else.

“People who drink coffee to wake up and not for fun or the flavor” I snort, shoving it up into one the cabinets. I stare at my open fridge, mulling over my options for dinner. I really don’t feel like making a mess or doing a bunch of dishes tonight, so looks like frozen pizza it is. “Cheese or pepperoni?” I ask over my shoulder.

Jean’s settled himself on the floor in front of my bookcase, flipping open my copy of Brave New World. “Hmm?” He looks up from the first page of the book that sits propped open in his lap. “Cheese or pepperoni what?”

“Pizza, you are staying for dinner, aren’t you?” I ask, my voice dropping off. I try my best to not sound wounded. I probably should have asked him first before assuming he didn’t have anything else to do. I chew at the inside of my cheek as my shoulders sag, turning a bit to watch him cut his finger through the pages.

“Sure. You pick, I like both. Why do you have the entire syllabus of a high school english teacher? These books were the worst” he grouses’s putting away the worn paperback and picking up the faded yellow spine of Slaughterhouse-Five.

I turn the oven on preheat before padding across the the dark wooden floors toward him, taking the seat next to his shoulder and crossing my legs in front of me. “I have a degree in lit., it’s kinda our thing. Though I will agree, I have to be in a mood to read the classics shelf” I say, balling my hands in my lap.

“So what exactly do _you_ do?” He inquires, looking up from the page about the author. I note that Jean’s resting frown is slowly dissolving, being replaced by a soft expression of curiosity and content. The setting summer sun illuminates my apartment in a hazy red glow, the sounds of the city all background noise. His eyes don’t look so tired, they’re focused and hardly flint away from me now.

“I just got hired as an editor for Sina Publishing, before that I was finishing grad school at JU” I say cooly, fiddling with the hem on the bottom of my shirt. I never really talk about me, its a foreign feeling, giving details about my life. “But, I would like to be a writer. I just haven’t found anything to write about yet” I say slowly.

Jean gently places the book in its slot, getting up to his feet with a groan as he scans the rest of the shelves. “Some of these aren’t so bad. World War Z is a pretty good one, I read that a while back” he says, trailing a feather-light finger down the book’s spine.

I snort, joining him at his side. “Of course you’ve read that, it has zombies and guns in it—“

I receive a deserved elbow to the ribs from a grumpy, grumbling Jean. I skitter away to the kitchen to shove the pizza in the oven, and return to find him nosing around my television. “What are you doing?” I ask, quirking my brow at him.

He squats awkwardly next to the entertainment system, huffing to himself. “Do you play anything other than movies? You literally have a fuck ton of DVD’s and zero games” he grouses,dropping to the floor. 

“You mean video games? I- I don’t really play them, no. I mean except for Pokemon when I was little, but no, not really” I say quietly plopping down onto the couch.

Jean abruptly hauls himself upright once more, muttering “Nope, that wont do, Bodt. That won’t do” as he strides to my front door and wrenches it open.

My heart sinks as he steps out into the hall, leaving my door ajar. I can hear his keys jingle and I am so lost as to what I’ve done wrong. My face pales as I stare down at my hands that start to ball in my lap. I pull my knees up into my chest and let my forehead thump against them. I thought things were going well too. I sigh heavily, curling in on myself. This is the exact opposite of what I needed, I am at square one again. I don’t notice the rustling and clanking until its moving through my door way.

I snap my head up, apologies on my tongue as Jean flips the light switch, soft white light that hurts my eyes now bathing the room. I swallow them thickly, watching him carry a bundle of cables and controllers sitting precariously atop a gaming system around to my TV before untangling the mess, mumbling to himself.

“What…what are you doing?” I ask timidly, unfolding myself from my place on the couch and slinking down to join him on the floor. 

He examines the ends of one cord before roughly jamming one end into the system and the other a little more gently into my TV. “Making your life a lot better. Or worse, depending on how you take it” he says vaguely before turning the power on both. Pleased with his work, Jean gets up, brushing off his pants before going back out the door.

I look at his project and back to the door frame that he strides through, holding out to me a disc case. I take it gingerly, flipping the plastic over in my hands. “Mario Kart? Jean I told you I’m not very good at—“

He plucks the case from my fingers, popping it open and handing me the disc. “You don’t have to be good, this means you can get better also” he says reassuringly. Jean takes one of the controllers before retiring to the couch, flipping through the start up screen and selecting the game.

“Alright” I say hesitantly, picking up one of the steering wheel-looking controllers and join him on the couch, staring down at the buttons. “I have no clue what to do, you’re gonna have to walk me through this. How do I operate this thing?” My voice is more exasperated than I intend, but I don’t think he considers it.

His sigh is light hearted as he sits down his own and takes mine, walking me through the motions and giving me the list of rules. Apparently I’m supposed to actually steer with this thing? I thought you pressed X buttons and twiddled your thumbs with little joysticks or something. I must be getting really old. 

Jean flips through the options before proclaiming that he’ll go easy on me and selects the track labeled as Luigi Circuit. I’m not quite sure what I’m doing or what all the stats on the screen mean as we choose karts, but I opt for the standard kart since I’m not too invested in winning. 

I’m sure Jean looses on purpose because I sure as hell have no idea what is going on, and he looks as if he expected the results. His gracious smile and shrug leaves me scowling as I get up to take the pizza out of the oven. “Don’t let me win, that takes out all the fun. I’ll never learn if you don’t make it harder” I tell him firmly as I set down his half of the pizza in front of him on the coffee table. “Coke or Pepsi?” I chirp as I stride back to the kitchen.

“Coke” he calls back, voice muffled as he chews. “Alright, don’t go easy. I can do that, although be warned you may experience some PTSD after this.” His smile is wicked as I return to my seat next to him.

“I’m not quite sure what you mean, but it can’t be that bad” I say, bringing my legs up to cross in front of me as Jean selects ‘Rainbow Road’.

I was sorely mistaken.

Half an hour later I am screaming at my television and I don’t give any fucks if I’m keeping my neighbors up.

I loose, again, with Jean cackling beside me. “I thought you said it wouldn’t be that bad?” He sings, enjoying my frustration far too much. “You sure you don’t wanna take a break? Maybe we can try a different course. One that, y’know, won’t send you into a fit.”

“That was before I knew you could fall off the God damn road” I seethe, batting away his hand as he tries to pry my controller from my white-knuckled fingers. I cart a hand through my hair, sweeping back what’s fallen in front of my face before angrily pressing the select button again. “I am going to get through one damn game where I don’t fall into the black abyss even if it kills me.”

It’s gone ten o’clock when Jean and I finally call it quits. Both of us have to work tomorrow, and staying up till the wee hours of the morning playing Mario Kart doesn’t seem like the best idea. He tells me he’ll leave the Wii here with me and we can play it again this week, and that frankly he’s just too tired and lazy to unhook everything.

I am perfectly alright with this because it means he has a reason so come back, a promise that he’ll return.

He insists on putting his number in my phone, just in case I ever need to reach him of course. Jean gives me a sleepy smile and bids me a thank you and a goodnight before letting the door fall shut behind him. I crawl into my bed, my own grin still plastered to my lips. My mind seems stuck on one topic, and it isn’t work. I’m excited to start my training tomorrow, but what I’m truly excited about is the prospect of getting to see Jean again. I think I may actually have made a friend, and on my first day here. See Marco, positive energy and good karma will do you wonders.

I briefly grow curious about Jean’s deployment, wondering what things were like for him over there and if he’s alright now, but I tell myself to save that for another day. There’s no purpose in dwelling about it, so I let myself drift off, that empty space in my chest feeling a little more full than it has been in a while.

 


End file.
